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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554479">When Skies Are Gray</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yopumpkinhead/pseuds/fallintosanity'>fallintosanity (yopumpkinhead)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, World of Ruin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:35:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,807</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554479</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yopumpkinhead/pseuds/fallintosanity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It should've been a routine daemon hunt - but two years without the sun have taken their toll, and Prompto gives in to despair.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Lost in Wars - A FFXV World of Ruin Zine</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When Skies Are Gray</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the Lost in Wars zine from 2020, focused on the World of Ruin. I'm honored to have been included and for the chance to work with so many amazing creators!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gladio cleaved through one kokyangwuti, leaped over a second, took a hit to the shoulder from a third, and dove forward as the barrel of Prompto’s gun swung his way. The gunshot took out the kokyangwuti that had hit him, and he slapped its body away with the flat of his blade. </p>
<p>“Watch your back!” he shouted to Prompto. The kid didn’t even turn, just pointed his gun over his shoulder and fired, blowing away the kokyangwuti that had been about to jump him. Gladio left him to crowd control and turned his own attention to the ariadne leading the pack of kokyangwuti. </p>
<p>The ariadne had turned up outside Lestallum two days ago and, along with its clutter of spider-like kokyangwuti, had killed three of the city’s guards already. Cor Leonis had asked Gladio and Prompto to deal with them, which was how they’d ended up out here on the cliff overlooking Taelpar Crag in a fight Gladio was already sick of. </p>
<p>Planting a boot on the head of a kokyangwuti that got too close, Gladio vaulted into the air and swung his sword down in a powerful two-handed blow. The ariadne skittered aside at the last second, and his blade only clipped its bulbous back half. It still shrieked with pain or fury, and Gladio fell back as it stabbed at him with the pincer-like talons on its front legs. </p>
<p>One of Prompto’s sunburst bullets whizzed past Gladio’s ear and exploded in the ariadne’s face, giving him the breathing room he needed to get his feet steady beneath him. Another swing of his sword sliced one of the ariadne’s front talons off; it shrieked again and leaped up and back, calling more kokyangwuti to swarm around Gladio. The dog-sized spider-daemons were more annoyance than danger, and Gladio killed two of them in one swing, then sliced half the legs off another one. He didn’t want to waste time on these things - the ariadne would keep creating them, or calling them, or whatever it was doing. Prompto could handle the kokyangwuti; Gladio needed to kill the ariadne. </p>
<p>With a roar, he charged through the crowd of kokyangwuti. Purple daemon lightning sparked around him as the ariadne raised its arms, forcing Gladio to weave and dodge into a low roll. He came up directly underneath the creature’s bulbous body, and sliced his sword down the length of it. Stinking, oozing miasma dripped in the wake of his blade; the stench of it turned his stomach and he choked. The ariadne lashed at him with its remaining talon, and he barely called his shield to his arm in time to block the blow. </p>
<p>“Die already!” Gladio snarled. Summoning his sword to his other hand, he slashed wide, hacking halfway through one of the ariadne’s legs. The mouths on its other legs screeched in pain and the ariadne called lightning again. Gladio hopped back, dismissed his shield, and lunged forward again, letting the lightning spark along his arms as he swung in a massive, cleaving arc. The shockwave from the attack knocked the ariadne’s legs out from beneath it and it staggered. Gladio didn’t give it a chance to stand: his next blow took the creature’s head. </p>
<p>Panting, Gladio leaned on his sword, surveying the battlefield. The bodies of the ariadne and several of its kokyangwuti slowly dissolved into puddles of miasmic goo, while thirty feet away, Prompto fought the last kokyangwuti— </p>
<p>No. </p>
<p>Gladio stared. The last <em>kokyangwuti </em>was still fighting, its beak clamped down on Prompto’s right arm, his whole hand in its mouth. Prompto was… just standing there, his face white with pain - but a wild, desperate grin twisted his lips and his eyes were alight with a horrible sort of joy. </p>
<p>Gladio knew that look. It was the look hunters got when they were too tired to keep going, when they’d decided that this fight was their last and this daemon was the one that would finally send them to an eternal rest. </p>
<p>“<em>Prompto!</em>” he roared. Terror gave him the speed to cross the distance between them in a heartbeat and cleave the kokyangwuti in half. Its body dissolved into miasma, dripping to the ground to reveal Prompto’s mangled right hand. </p>
<p>Kokyangwuti mouths didn’t have teeth, but rather opened downward into a hollow throat pouch that could be either filled with a flesh-eating venom, or empty and burning red-hot like an oven. Gladio had been bitten by both versions, and he was relieved to see that apparently this one had been burning. The skin of Prompto’s hand and wrist was red and blistered like a nasty sunburn, and even his black leather wristband was charred and smoking - but if the kokyangwuti’s mouth had been filled with venom, there’d be nothing left but bone. As it was, Prompto would get to keep his hand. </p>
<p>Except… judging from the bitter disappointment that flashed across Prompto’s face as the daemon vanished, he didn’t <em>want</em> to keep it. </p>
<p>Gladio opened his mouth to swear at him, to demand an explanation, to chew him out for doing something so utterly idiotic and reckless and what the fuck is <em>wrong</em> with you, Prompto— </p>
<p>—but Prompto swayed suddenly, his eyes rolling back in his head. He made a quiet little noise like a sob, and collapsed into Gladio’s arms. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Prompto awoke to soft voices nearby: <em>how’s he doing?</em> and the answering, <em>still out. I’ll let you know.</em> Cor and Gladio, and Prompto winced. His right hand burned, a steady throbbing ache that pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and he wished Gladio had been just a little slower back on the Taelpar cliffs. </p>
<p>A door closed, and soft footsteps crossed the room toward Prompto. “Hey,” Gladio said.</p>
<p>Prompto didn’t answer. </p>
<p>There was a creak of wood, a stool or chair straining as Gladio sat down next to the bed. “I know you’re awake,” Gladio said. He rested a hand on Prompto’s chest. “C’mon, kid, open those baby blues.”</p>
<p>Reluctantly Prompto opened his eyes. The room was dark, the only light coming from the ever-present Lestallum spotlights filtering past tattered curtains, but he still recognized Gladio’s little studio apartment. Prompto lay on Gladio’s bed, his boots and shirt missing and a sheet tucked around him - except for his right hand. It lay atop the sheet, wrapped in bandages halfway up his forearm. Seeing it seemed to remind Prompto’s brain how badly it hurt; a jolt of pain spiked up his arm and made him gasp. </p>
<p>“So,” Gladio said. He’d ditched his protective Crownsguard jacket, bare-chested now in the sweltering Lestallum heat, and dark circles marked his eyes like bruises. “You wanna tell me what the fuck that was about back there?” </p>
<p>“Ah,” Prompto said. He forced a smile onto his face, forced his voice to be light. “What was what about?” </p>
<p>Gladio looked unimpressed. “You know what.” </p>
<p>“No, really, I don’t,” Prompto said as brightly as he could manage. “Thanks for getting that last spider off me, though.” The lie was bitter on his tongue and his voice slipped, but he added, “Really appreciate the save!” </p>
<p>He carefully did not look at his hand again. His wristband was missing, and even knowing that Gladio already knew about the barcode wasn’t enough to stop the reflexive spike of fear that someone had seen his tattoo. That Gladio had seen it at all was more than enough. That Gladio had seen what Prompto had tried to do… Prompto wasn’t sure he could handle that.</p>
<p>“Kid,” Gladio said, then sighed, looking down. His shoulders sagged, and something twisted in Prompto’s gut, that he’d been the one to make Gladio look that exhausted. Before he could say anything, Gladio looked up and met his eyes. “Prompto. Either you tell <em>me</em> what the fuck that was about, or you get to tell Cindy.” </p>
<p>Shit. “Cindy’s here?” </p>
<p>“She’s on her way,” Gladio said. He jerked his chin at Prompto’s hand. “Cid helped me patch you up. He said she’s coming up for a few days to pick up some batteries. Should be here tonight.” </p>
<p>Prompto winced. Between getting chewed out by Gladio and getting chewed out by Cindy, he’d take Gladio any day. “Don’t tell Cindy.” </p>
<p>“Won’t be <em>me </em>telling her anything,” Gladio said pointedly.</p>
<p>“I can’t—” Prompto’s breath hitched and he swallowed. “I—”   </p>
<p>Gladio waited. His hand was still on Prompto’s chest, heavy and steady and stabilizing, but the weight wasn’t as comforting as it should’ve been. The feathers of Gladio’s eagle tattoo gleamed darkly in the dim light: real ink, real skin. Tears stung Prompto’s eyes and he squeezed them shut, biting his lip. “You wanted yours,” he whispered. </p>
<p>“My what?” Gladio asked, sounding genuinely baffled. “My hand?” </p>
<p>Prompto shook his head. His throat felt thick and raw, the words difficult to force out. “Your tattoo.” </p>
<p>Gladio didn’t say anything for a long time. Prompto didn’t dare open his eyes; he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear seeing either pity or contempt on Gladio’s face. Finally Gladio said, his voice carefully flat, “You know there’s other ways to get rid of a tattoo.” </p>
<p>“They don’t work.” Prompto shook his head again, feeling the tears leak out of the corners of his eyes to drip past his ears. He wanted to roll over, curl in on himself, but Gladio’s hand on his chest might as well have been a cage for as firmly as it trapped him. “I tried. The skin there - it doesn’t… doesn’t burn. Or cut.” </p>
<p>He heard the hitch in Gladio’s breath as he realized what Prompto meant. “Prompto—”</p>
<p>“It won’t take ink, either,” Prompto cut in. It was enough for Gladio to know what he’d done; he couldn’t handle being chewed out for it, too. “I tried a couple times right after I graduated high school, when I was old enough to not need my parents’ consent. Whatever’s on that spot on my wrist, it’s not skin.” </p>
<p>His voice broke on the last word and he choked on the sob that followed. <em>You were cloned from this genius’s genes, born of my own flesh and blood</em>, Besithia had said, two years ago in the First Magitek Production Facility.<em> You are but one of millions created to serve our great empire in the magitek infantry.</em></p>
<p>“I’m not <em>human</em>,” he whispered. </p>
<p>“Bullshit,” Gladio snapped.</p>
<p>Prompto’s eyes flew open. Gladio glared down at him, his amber eyes fierce in the dim light. “Prompto,” he said. “The <em>fuck</em> gave you that idea?” </p>
<p>Prompto raised his right hand and waved it in Gladio’s face. Pain burned up his arm and he didn’t bother trying to stop the tears this time. “This isn’t enough? That I’m a Stars-damned <em>clone</em> mass-produced by the Empire to kill Lucians? That I was supposed to spend my whole life unconscious in a tube, until I got turned into a daemon and fed into an MT’s battery? I’m not—” A sob choked him and he tried again. “I’m not human, I’m just a weapon, I was made in a lab to be power for a killing machine!” </p>
<p>The sobs were coming faster now; he had to gasp the words out around them. “I’m not anything. I should have never talked to Noct—Lady Lunafreya should have never—I’m not worth anything, I should have left Noct alone and never—I’m not—I can’t—” <br/><br/>Gladio grunted. “You done?” </p>
<p>“I’m a <em>monster</em>,” Prompto hissed, frustrated. Gladio didn’t <em>get</em> it, he was being flippant and dismissive and Prompto <em>hated</em> it when he got like that. “I’m a freak, okay? I’m some kind of inhuman MT monstrosity—”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Gladio cut in. “Then kill me already.” </p>
<p>“...What?” </p>
<p>Gladio sat up straight and spread his arms wide, exposing his chest. “You’re an MT. Kill me.” </p>
<p>“Wh-No!” Prompto yelped. “I’m not going to kill you!” </p>
<p>“Really?” Gladio asked, frustratingly calm. “I’ve never met an MT that didn’t want me dead. So go ahead. Have at.” </p>
<p>“Quit making fun of me!” Prompto snarled. He pushed himself up off the bed with his good arm, then had to stop for a second when the room spun nauseatingly around him. When he could look up again, Gladio was still just sitting there, arms out to the sides, waiting. “Cut it out!” </p>
<p>“An MT would’ve at least <em>attacked</em> me by now,” Gladio said. </p>
<p>“I’m <em>not</em>—”</p>
<p>“Not what? Not an MT?” </p>
<p>Prompto scowled at him. </p>
<p>Gladio dropped his hands. Rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, amber eyes meeting Prompto’s own. “You ain’t an MT, kid. Fine, you were born in a test tube. You’ve got a patch of weird-ass not-skin on your wrist. Who cares?” </p>
<p>
  <em>Whatever. Who cares where you were born?</em>
</p>
<p>Prompto shoved that memory down deep, where he kept everything else about Noctis. “Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You’re an Amicitia. Your family is like, the second most important family in Lucis after the Lucis Caelums. You were probably born in the fanciest hospital in the Crown City.”</p>
<p>“At home, actually,” Gladio said. “Mom hated hospitals.” </p>
<p>Prompto flung his hands into the air, then winced as that sent fire surging through the injured one. “See?” </p>
<p>“So?” Gladio said. “Some folks are born at home, or in hospitals. Some folks are born in garages, or by the side of the road, or, hell, there’ve been a few born inside the Exineris power plant. You gonna tell me they ain’t human just because they were born someplace strange?” </p>
<p>“None of them were born to be <em>monsters</em>,” Prompto hissed. Tears welled up in his eyes again and he scrubbed furiously at them with his good hand. </p>
<p>“Prompto,” Gladio said, then sighed. “You ain’t a monster. You’re the furthest thing from a monster.” </p>
<p>“Then what the hell am I?” Prompto demanded. “Tell me that! I was born in a test tube and I have a weird-ass patch of not-skin on my arm. <em>You </em>tell me what the hell I am!” </p>
<p>Gladio opened his mouth. Closed it. Sighed again, and bowed his shoulders, letting his head hang over his knees for a minute. When he looked up again, the corner of his mouth was quirked up in a faint smile. “I’ll tell you, but you gotta promise not to laugh.” </p>
<p>Prompto scowled at him. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” </p>
<p>“I’m a sentimental idiot who reads too much Altissian poetry, is what it means,” Gladio muttered, half to himself. Out loud, to Prompto, he added, “Promise?” </p>
<p>There was something in his eyes, fierce and earnest, and Prompto wavered. Broke. “Fine,” he said, though he didn’t stop glaring. “I promise I won’t laugh.” </p>
<p>Gladio grunted, took a breath, let it out, then ran a hand through his hair, visibly struggling to get the words out. Finally he blurted, “You’re sunshine, kid.” </p>
<p>“...Huh?” </p>
<p>“You’re…” Gladio made an abortive gesture with one hand. “I dunno how else to say it. You show up, it’s like the world’s a little bit brighter. Especially now,” he added, and this time the gesture was more expansive, encompassing the sunless, miasma-smothered sky. “It’s depressing as all fuck out there, but you’ve always… You still smile. You still make jokes, you still slap people on the ass and you tease Iris and you play darts with Talcott. You’re the sunshine we need right now.” </p>
<p>Prompto stared at him. </p>
<p>Gladio snorted softly. “Well, at least you’re not laughing at me, I guess.” </p>
<p>“Oh shut up,” Prompto grumbled. “Sunshine? Really?” </p>
<p>“Yep.” Gladio ruffled Prompto’s hair, then dropped his hand down to rest feather-light over Prompto’s wounded hand. “But you’ve been so busy being the sun for everyone else, that you forgot to save some of it for yourself.”</p>
<p>“Ugh,” Prompto muttered. “<em>Now</em> you sound like you’ve been reading too much poetry.” </p>
<p>Gladio chuckled. “Can’t a guy be the muscle <em>and</em> be cultured?” </p>
<p>“Nope,” Prompto said. “It’s against the rules. Iggy’s the cultured one.” </p>
<p>“I don’t think Iggy’s read a poem in his life,” Gladio joked. Then his smile softened. “See?” he said. “Just like that, it’s a little brighter in here.” </p>
<p>“...Yeah,” Prompto agreed quietly. Gladio was right; he <em>did </em>feel lighter. “But I think it was you, this time.” He caught Gladio’s eyes. “Thanks, big guy.” </p>
<p>“Anytime,” Gladio said, then grinned. “So, are we supposed to hug now or something?” </p>
<p>“I…” Prompto said, but abruptly the words stuck in his throat. His hand burned, and so did his eyes; he looked down at his lap before Gladio could see what was on his face. “Um. Actually. ...Can we?” </p>
<p>“Sure.” Gladio shifted from the stool he was sitting on to the edge of the bed, then held out his arms. Prompto buried his face in Gladio’s shoulder, clinging to him with his good arm, and Gladio folded him close to his chest. “I mean it,” Gladio added softly, his voice a comforting rumble. “Save some of that sunshine for yourself.” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Prompto whispered. “I will.” </p>
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